Note: This fic/chapter is being posted as part of "Good Fic Day," an effort to raise the quality of writing here. We hope to encourage more writers to improve the quality of their own fan fiction - spell check, grammar check, keep the gang in character, outline, plot and don't use Mary Sues. Good fan fiction requires effort, and we would like to encourage other writers to rise to the challenge of producing better fan fiction, not only for our readers, but for S.E. Hinton, who created the wonderful book we are trying to honor.

A/n:I do not own The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton, nor do I own Stairway to Heaven, written by Robert Plant and Jimmy Page, and performed by Led Zeppelin. Enjoy. :)

Yes, there are two paths you can go by

But in the long run

There's still time to change the road you're on.

And it makes me wonder.

He crouched behind several bushes, a rifle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He looked around and noticed that he was alone. Not only that, but an uneasy silence hung over the vast terrain; no gun shots, no helicopters -- nothing.

Suddenly, there was a sharp tap on his shoulder, and Steve wheeled around. Standing in front of him was his father with a slightly amused look on his face.

"Jumpy, ain't you, boy?"

Steve blinked, confused about what was going on. "Dad? What are you doin' here?"

"I'm here to talk to you, kiddo. Take a walk."

"Are you fucking crazy, old man? You want to get your head shot off out here? I ain't getting up."

Bill Randle glared at his son. "Watch what you say, Steve. An' we ain't gonna get hurt. Stop being stubborn and just listen to me."

Steve looked over the bushes and saw no movement. He slowly got up, and began to follow his father. "Where're we going, then?"

Bill shrugged and looked over at Steve. "Want to give me a light?"

"Huh? Oh … uh, yeah, sure." He shifted the rifle to his left shoulder and pulled out a Zippo.

"It's already lit."

"What?" Steve asked, confused.

"The cigarette, son. It's lit."

Steve looked to his hand, and saw that the cigarette was indeed lit. He handed it to his father, more confused than ever.

"What's going on?"

"Sit down, son."

Steve looked from his father and saw that they were now by a shore. He sat next to his father on a fallen tree branch.

"So you got that letter, then?"

"How'd you know about that?"

"You stupid, boy? I fucking wrote it. Why'd you ignore it for so long, anyway?"

Steve sighed, not sure why he had. "I ignored all my mail after that if I could. No offense or nothing, but you ain't really a voice of comfort most times."

Bill took a drag on the cigarette and laughed. "I guess so."

Steve looked at the shore and watched the waves crash on the wet sand. "So … uh, what're you here for?"

"You should know. You're the one going crazy."

"Look, old man, I ain't gonna talk to you like this. Why the fuck are you here?"

"Steve, your mouth is gettin' real old."

Steve rolled his eyes and kicked absently at the sand.

"I'm here 'cause you obviously can't do this shit on your own. Hearing the voices of two people who died ain't never good. Next you'll be hearing your brother's voice. Hell, you was just a baby when Will died."

"You sick that guy on me and I'll fucking bring you back from the dead to kill you. I've had good practice in killing."

"So, this whole country's turned you into some tough, heartless killer?"

Steve shifted his rifle, avoiding his father's eyes. "Nah … it's just we got used to it, you know? It ain't nothing new, having to go out and fight. It's hard to explain, I guess."

"Now you're sounding like your grandfather." Bill's voice sounded resentful.

Steve shrugged and looked over at his father. "So, Dad, what'd you come here for?"

"I guess it's hard to explain, right? Caring about your own goddamned son can be just as hard to explain as killing a couple gooks."

Steve didn't respond only averted his eyes.

"Look, son, it ain't right that you're hearing us. I'll see you someday up there, but not now."

Steve laughed. "You're in Heaven?"

"Who the fuck said I wasn't goin' to Heaven? I had a Bible! I went to church."

"Like hell you did, old man; when you were sober."

Bill laughed and took another drag on his cigarette. "Look, son, I'm not leaving until you fix this shit up, but listen here: this isn't good. Get your life back, get your girl back, and for Christ's sake, get a better job. A car parts shop that don't even have all the right parts? You graduated high school, son. Do something with your life."

"What do you want me to do, Dad?"

"What do you want to do, Steve? Think real hard on it."

Bill tossed his cigarette into the sand and ground it out with his heel. He got up and walked toward the shore before turning to Steve. "And don't blame your mother for taking off like she did. She had her reasons and I still love her. You was too young to understand, but she loved you, too."

Turning to face the cold water, Bill Randle waded through and began to swim, until he was just a dot on the horizon, and Steve was left standing alone.

XxXxX

He opened his eyes, sleepily, and cursed himself for falling asleep on the couch. Getting up, he rubbed his back and stretched. He'd really need to replace that shitty couch sooner or later. Hopefully sooner.

Checking the time, Steve sighed in relief that it was a Sunday. No work, thank God. He made his way to the bathroom and began to get ready for the day -- or what was left of it. It was already noon.

Once he was dressed and showered, Steve stepped out of the apartment and walked toward the bus stop, deciding to visit Darry.

Getting on the bus, he paid his fare and took a seat in the back. A million thoughts began to run through his head, none of them ones he wanted to think of.

How about you start with our little talk last night?

Steve groaned and thought: Not fucking now, Dad.

Suit yourself, but I know you remember it. You ain't gonna ignore me forever.

Steve tried to block his father's voice out, but it persisted.

Do you want me to get your brother on you? 'Cause I fucking will!

"Fine! I'll fucking do it!" Steve suddenly looked around in horror, realizing that he had just yelled that out loud in public. "Shit …" He sank down into his seat and groaned, not speaking for the rest of the ride.

Getting off of the bus, Steve averted people's gazes from his scene before.Fuckers, he thought.

He began to walk toward St. Louis street. It was only a short walk, maybe a block away, and Steve was grateful for that. For March it was awfully cold out. Before he knew it, Steve stood at the Curtises' front door, and opened it.

The TV was on, along with the radio, and Steve could hear a girl and a boy talking from one of the bedrooms. Looking down the hall, he saw Pony standing, his back to the door, arguing with someone.

"Peg, this just ain't a good day to be around."

"Butwhy, Pony?" Steve heard Peg's voice carry through the door.

"Look, Peggy, I'll make this up to you, I promise." He watched as Pony disappeared behind the door that was hiding Peg. A few moments later, they both came out, Peg still looking annoyed.

Pony looked slightly surprised to see Steve in the den. "Uh, hey, Steve."

"Hey, kid."

"You remember Peg, right?"

Steve grinned. "Sure do. How's it going, Peggy?"

She only rolled her eyes, flipping her hair over one shoulder, and walked out the door.

"Looks like you've got quite a piece of work cut out for you."

"She's a brat," he said simply. "But she's worth it most times."

Steve laughed, and clapped Pony on the back. "Looks like you've grown up, kiddo. But why the rush to get her out of the house? You got another girl?"

Pony laughed awkwardly. "Nah … I just really didn't want the company today. What'd you come over here for, anyway?"

"Lookin' for your brother. Any idea where he is?"

"He's out back fixing something or another. Want me to go get him?"

"Yeah, sure thing, Pony."

Pony walked out the back door, and Steve walked to the kitchen and began to search the ice box. He came out with a pitcher of milk and poured himself a glass. A moment later Pony and Darry came into the small room.

Darry smiled, wiping his brow. "Hey, Steve. How's it going?"

Steve shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I meant to ask you about sign ups for the junior college. I know you're going. When's it too late to send in applications?"

Darry cocked an eyebrow, looking surprised, but still smiled. "End of April is the deadline. You can pick up applications and the like in one of the offices. What're you going back for, anyhow?"

Steve shrugged again, taking a sip of his milk. "Not sure, but I ain't spending my life in that shitty little shop. I mean they ain't even got the right parts for some things."

Darry laughed absently, then his face grew serious. "You got the money to go back, Steve?

Steve shifted awkwardly, and nodded. "Yeah … the old man left me a bunch of money 'fore he died. It wasn't too much, but I mean it gets me by on rent each month. I guess that and the money coming in from the shop can do me good for now."

Darry nodded and smiled. "I'm proud you're going back. Does Evie know?"

"Nah, not yet. I mean I'm still thinking on this. I ain't sure if I really want to go to school just yet, but I think I am."

"You could do it if you wanted. If you've been sober an' clean for five months now, I think you can go through college."

"Yeah, I guess I could," he said, smiling a little. There was an easy silence between the three, and Steve looked over at the clock. "I'm gonna get going. I might stop by Two-Bit's new place. Never thought he'd bother an' move out of his place."

"See you, Steve. Take care of yourself."

Steve nodded, giving briefly shaking both Pony's and Darry's hands. He walked out the front door, his hands in his pockets, and began to whistle tunelessly.

Looks like I ain't gonna need to get your brother after all. Good work.

Steve laughed quietly and smiled. Looked like he did a good job, after all.